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Monday -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

Let’s just prime the wordage pump, just a li’l bit with this from 2010 (like the first full year of this here blog, here).

(Funny how this RePrint thing works as a rhetorical lubrication* but we’re thinking about a number of topics which, in the interest of keepin’ things moving, we’ll save for later this week. These topics include: the perception (and role) of time (and it’s passage) as manifested in clarks, scotts and rogers; the translation challenge and, finally, how to get deeper into ‘the other two’ worldviews for to have a better grasp of their reality.)

damn! that all sounds interesting! But in the interest of … oh, yeah! Cynthia has promised to recover a phrase she employed during our (along with Denise) conversation on this past weekend’s call-in. It keyed an insight into the development of a person’s relationship with fatigue as we age. Stay tuned.

(oh, yeah… a little crib sheet for this very vintage post. that last section, in blue font? a character that turned up and hung out in our post-writing, for a time. now, from the perspective of our current interest in learning to write fiction, we can appreciate how much the Wakefield Doctrine has to nurture the potential to encourage one to use it as a tool for self-improving ourselfs. In this instance, it allowed us to explore and practice our interest in writing, all while, in while in the middle of a ‘serious Doctrine post’.)

(Hey, just noticed (yeah, early am and all) this post was written before the custom of inserting a top-of-post image developed. Interesting.)

God said to Abraham, kill me a son. Abe say, man you must be puttin me on

(Man, tough Post.)I mean, I know what I want to talk about, but it’s how to talk about it that has me dialing: 1-800-kitchensink.
You do not want to know how many drafts it has taken to get even this far.  But write it I will. (remind me to tell you later about how helpful our Miss Sullivan has been).Let’s start at the beginning (…”and go on till you come to the end”  L Carroll):‘The Wakefield Doctrine is built upon the idea that everyone experiences the world/reality differently, from one of three overlapping but distinctive perspectives… maintains that this characteristic perception of reality can be grouped into three distinct types, called for reasons stated elsewhere, clarks, scotts and rogers.’
…we also possess the potential to see the world as a clark or a scott or a roger.  It is only the predominance of qualities from one (over the other two) that makes us what we are.  No one is only clarklike or scottian or rogerian. (source:  About: The Wakefield Doctrine (italics added).Why quote that which we all know?To assert balance.
In the last few Posts we have received a good amount of input from the scottian perspective. We appreciate this. The Doctrine is being read by more and more (repeat) Readers because of this input.
(and)…it is the nature of  scotts to present strong opinion on all matters, the topic  of rogers being no exception.
(All Opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the person, character or self-identified entity attaching their names to said Opinion.  These Opinions do not necessarily reflect the Opinions of other Progenitors or Downsprings.  All Comments are possibly incorrect, with the exception of those from the one with the marked penchant for parenthes(es))1So, let us go right to the matter at hand.

Rogers
are awful…
they are awfully opinionated and parochial, they are awfully judgemental and closed minded and obsessed with the mundane and the measurable and the repeatable and the consistent and the reliable and…it is a good thing we have rogers or we would all be living on the open savannah, sleeping in trees and looking over our shoulders every time we tried to have a drink of water.Our scottian brethren (in fact our individual scottian aspect) are not incorrect in their assessment of the foibles of the rogerian nature; they are simply limited.  Their Comments are direct and without nuance or subtly,  you know:  scottian.  But neither are they (the scotts) at fault, they are merely expressing their perception.
Having said that, I would not want to fly to Vegas in a plane designed by scotts (or for that matter, a plane built by clarks).
In the first case, the plane would have 5  over-sized jet engines stuck on various sections of the fuselage, mostly towards the back of the plane, painted bright colors and the pilot would be expected to be able to stick his head out the window to scream at other passing jets.  In the second case, the interior would consist primarily of couches (with pillows and quilts),  that while comfortable, would tend to slide around (a lot)  and there would be 6 or 7  bathrooms taking up the entire back half of the plane.(You get my point).It is a given here at the Doctrine that those who participate are assumed to be able to handle whatever forms of interactions occur.  And while we maintain the editorial right to shape expressions of opinions, it is with no small amount of pride that we can say that has not happened yet.  What you read is the direct and un-abashed thoughts and opinions of the contributors.

But that is only half of the challenge we faced sitting down at the keyboard here.

The other half (and possibly the half with the greater significance for this thing of ours) is how to speak to them (rogers and scotts and clarks),  as brother Malcom said:

“And during the few moments that we have left, we want to talk, right down to
earth, in a language that everybody here can easily understand.” (Malcolm X)

The simple fact of the matter is that if not written in the ‘language’ of the type, no message will get through.  Another way to say it:  if I do not manage to ‘speak scottian‘ to a scott, my message will be misinterpreted at best and totally unheard at worst.  If I cannot speak to a roger in the language of the herd then I will be treated as noise.

This is the dilemma we face with this Post.

But, fuck it.  We are writing (this) which is not the same as assuming that we are communicating (with the Reader).

Hey scott!  Hey!!  Don’t eat all of the local herd or you may find yourself having to go outside of your own hunting grounds…getting hungry…getting weak…finding new hunting grounds and finding…a whole new pack of scotts…(and we all know how social and co operative scotts are). (Can you say, ‘the weak and old simply get left behind to die’?  I knew you could!)

Hey roger…get over it.  The herd is all there is… until you look up.  Once you see the herd,  I hate to burst your bubble pal,  you ain’t in the herd anymore.  And try as you might, you can never, never bury yourself in historical novels and documentaries by Saint Ken, never go back to that bovine indifference to the werld.  And those scottsthat you love supplying food for and the clarks that make you feel so better than…guess what?
They know that you know.  And know that you know that they know…

oh clark…don’t think you can type yourself out of this one…no, there will be no literary constructs to divert the Reader.  No mf…you of all of the three forms, you are the one to indulge in the ‘people? can’t we all just get along’  bullshit.  Which, when you really look at it, is a sin against all that the Doctrine stands for… goddamn dude, you really think that just sitting there and typing this shit week after week was going to change you into the real person you have always been afraid that you are not?  Well, you may be on track but you better be prepared to step outside of your perfectly defined-surely-this-includes-all-inferences-and-possibilties little world.  As the Lady would say, ‘You been told’.

Welll…that sort of went all toyota on us, didn’t it?  (Heh heh)  …oh Janie!

? no…busy now…come back.. oh alright!  Now I am called in to lighten things up? Any of you real people/Readers think through the implications of using a ‘literary construct’ to lend a sense of reasonableness to the shenanigans that go on around here? Even a hint of how messed up that is?  No, I didn’t, think you had…
Hey, did you know that the old janitor/music video guy (Mr. B, I believe) was once a professional musician? yeah! he was just telling me…no,  not too old man tries to recapture… but I am an ‘A’ student in the Doctrine and I did not know that a roger could deliberately give up his rogerian expression…yeah me too.  Anyway  he had to run and left the following music  said that if you don’t try too hard you will get the connection…whatever
…can I go home now? this does get just a bit tedious…

1) In case of disagreement, the protocol will be followed:
we are right and you are wrong…

 

 

* ?!?!? yeah, ‘ewww’

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TToT -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Ten Things of Thankful (TToT) bloghop. Foundered in 1767 by a charwoman’s daughter, her first effort to spin the gold from the dross was met with skepticism. Which, in rural England in the mid-1700s, was not attitude anyone sought to elicit from Readers. With the help of a defrocked monk by the name of Percival (no, no relation to the other, equally clueless Percival), L.R. found her way down to the coast and settled in Manchester. Under an assumed name, total makeover and a renewed determination to, (paraphrasing a descendent, ‘not get fooled again‘), she continued her efforts to point others in a better direction.

1) Una

2) Phyllis

3) the Wakefield Doctrine

4) the Six Sentence Story bloghop. This week’s Six of the Week comes from Frank Hubney with his way-fun storyette, ‘Heart‘.

5) the Unicorn Challenge (ceayr and jenne‘s no-it-doesn’t-look-like-two-starfish-gettin’-frisky-lets-go-to-the-next-card) photo-prompt ‘hop. This week’s Pick of the ‘corn comes from Doug Jacquire with his ‘My Station is Here, After’.

6) We were spared excessive frozen water accumulation this week. But, as Mimi, (our senpai in all matters gratacious), would remind us, ‘Never mind that! Be thankful you have a glass’.

7) Speaking of graduate-level gratitudining… the photo at the top? Ayiiee! One of the two carrying beams of the bridge has broken. (Did someone just say, ‘High Risk Wooden Bridge Repair… ordeal!!!!” lol) stay tuned. Open to suggestions as to cool mods to make. (P has already suggested ‘Rope Bridge’ Will spare you the meme-level icon movie scenes. But, prob-not.)

8) something, something

9) continuing project at work, wading through uncertainty is such a gift, i.e. ‘It’s right there. You define the character of the future, not ‘them, it, or those’.

10) Secret Rule 1.3 (’cause what good is it to be in a club/association/gathering/pack/herd/random-concurrence if’n some of the rules aren’t, like, hidden from view?)

 

music vids

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(this one? ‘You’re welcome’)

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Frieturday -the Wakefield Doctrine-

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

We join them crazy-gifted fictioneers over at ceayr and jenne‘s place, the Unicorn Challenge. As a mixed social gathering, it’s less intimidating than Spin the Bottle or Seven Minutes in Heaven, but given the skills exhibited in their two-hundred-fifty-word stories (based on the photo-prompt below), we’re surprised we work up the nerve to join in even every-other-Friday.

Wish us luck.

 

The Number 9 (Direct Express to Liverpool-Hertfordshire-Manchester) blurred past those waiting on the platform with no more warning than a brief Doppler’d shriek of its horn. A negative-tunnel of air passing the station; all confetti-litter and iron-rattles blurred by it’s quantum state of permanent indeterminacy.

The quiet it left behind was one of the few insights into the world God intended, after the fiasco in the Garden. The only certainty He intended his flawed, if not prolific, Race of Man to have was simple: Loud/Not Loud. The Unified Theory of Getting Through Life.

For the most part, those on the platform were not there by choice. Comprised almost entirely of Commuters waiting to leave Home to Go To Work, the essential itinerary of capitalism.

The only free humans that morning were a young couple and a child.

The remainder of the people, (standing in for Heisenberg’s mythical ‘Observers), wore the shackles of Adulthood (tastefully accessorized by his slutty half-sister, Sophistication) affected not to notice these three societal outliers.

The child, in the forest of adults, stood with eyes wide in wonder. Being young he perceived the world as but forces and temporary objects, leaving little behind other than emotion solidified into hope and fear.

The couple had each other. They were at the peak experience of this relationship because they were parting. Why is inconsequential. When was all that matter to them.

Like the child, but unlike everyone else, they felt the incidental gift of a certain Garden, loss.

 

 

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six]

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise (insisting only on the number of sentences be Six). No more. No less.

We left the tall, thin man and the Sophomore in the Manager’s office locked in a meta-adversarial contest of Will. (Click Here).

Prompt Word:

HEART

“What’s that noise

The tall, thin man was at the door of the Manager’s office before the Sophomore could laugh at the older man’s total inability to resist the urge to find the obscurely weird in the common everyday; but, before the younger man could justify his own love of the eccentric, the volume reached a level sufficient to permit comprehension.

Standing in the hallway where it opened into the Six Sentence Café and Bistro proper, the collective conversation of the crowded room, of which all but four were strangers, was enhanced by the visual: people smiling at the young waiters and waitrae serving drinks to those seated at the room full of small, round tables; the well-dressed (ok, well, over-dressed) man’s eyes were drawn to a woman sitting in an alcove facing the stage, her face awash with the richly-hued light of a laptop as she watched the celebration of her return.

The Sophomore, a little further in the dark of the hallway, slightly behind the manager, awed, “No way, thats…”; without turning the old man man replied, “Way.”

“We would do well to let her tale stand as a reminder of true inner strength; I hope to have half the heart and a quarter of the will that Chris has exhibited over the last months;” glancing at the crowd, the Proprietor spotted Nick and Denise sitting nearby with what they hoped was not concerned-hovering as regular customers greeted the Raconteur with quiet deference; Mimi, at the end of the bar rose and held the swinging doors as Tom stepped out of the kitchen, a food tray the size of a Hula Hoop® balanced over his head.

“You go, I’ll hang back and get into character,” the tall, thin man stepped further into the darkness of the hall as the shouts of, “Yo, T-Traveler dude!’ burst from a cloud of cigar smoke like a message from a sky-writer in the anti-matter universe.

 

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [‘…of Heroes and the Misunderstood’ a Rue DeNite Serial Six]

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise (insisting only on the number of sentences be Six). No more. No less.

Back in May of last year, Tom, (The Mansionic Perspective) he comes up and says, ‘Hey clark,” he says, “I’m thinking my bunch of superheroes might have an interest in some of them characters what frequent the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge.” The beginning of the Doctrine’s contribution to the serial mashup can be read: Here

Well, our friend (and chef at the Six Sentence Cafe and Bistro) is at it again. Last week he wrote a Six that took place at Rue DeNite’s house. Totally un-expected. (Thanks! FrankMimi!)

Previously on (as yet named)… Serial Six we find Moonbeam feeling surprised

 

Prompt Word:

HEART

“Shit! Turn the car around.”

Like luminescent dominoes, the halogen street lights illuminated both speaker and driver through the car’s moonroof;  the driver was male, (Exhibit 1: early-stage male pattern baldness), confident, (Exhibit 2: right-hand on the wheel, left-elbow on armrest) and possessed of a certain serenity: (Exhibit 3: an easy smile of affectionate curiosity despite the volume/intensity from his passenger); who, with the additional  light from oncoming traffic, was unabashedly female, (Exhibit 4: eclipse-dark shadows rising and falling across her upper chest), athletic, (Exhibit 5: in an activity not so much focused on defying gravity as it was conspiring with it, i.e. willowy yet providing her provocative clothing with every parry and feint considered important to women’s fashion designers) and possessed of an intellect that searched for traps even as she baited her own, (Exhibit 6: shaded by her short, blue-veined blonde hair were two tattoos, below her right ear: Non serviam and, starting beneath her left ear trailing downwards: Vincit quae se vincit.)

The neighborhood was as quiet as a non-gated community gets, the architecture was tasteful, every house had three car garages and sited a discrete distance from the street, a taste not a meal, in terms of privacy; Rocco pulled the black-on-black DB12 into the driveway nearest the front entrance.

“I’ll be right back,” Rue’s shadow flowed across the front of the garage door, slowing as she approached the half-open front door; a glance back at the car confirmed that her friend had not abandoned his side gig as her bodyguard as he turned up the car’s sound system, letting Jacques Loussier’s jazz-Bach mask any sound of approach and eased out of the drivers side, siccing his own silhouette on hers.

“Well, far be it for me to forget a superhero,” stepping over the threshold into the living room, Rue DeNite smiled, “Oh wait, this isn’t one of those ambush reality shows, where they hide video cameras hoping to catch the homeowner doing the horizontal mambo with the hot neighbor, or in this case, maybe just sending a burglar in tights off to the ER.”

Ignoring the young woman with the rifle, Rue waited until Rocco closed the door and turned to the strange man in her living room, “Good Golly Mr. Moonbeam, who’s your cute little friend with all the weaponry; I gotta tell you, this supervillain action is turning my thermostat way up, poor Rocco’s heart might not be up to the demands I expect to be putting on him once we get back to our vacation, you hear what I’m sayin?”

 

 

 

 

 

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